


tales of the Raven King

by Linnea_Ancalime



Category: Original Work
Genre: (but they're also just one character each so it's accessible with screen readers), (obliquely), Alternate Realities, Gen, Multiplicity/Plurality, Multiverse Theory, Prose & Poetry, definitely very Fantastic and Surreal in tone, rated T for language not content, this is... at least somewhat postmodern, yes the fancy paragraph separators Mean Something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25534789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linnea_Ancalime/pseuds/Linnea_Ancalime
Summary: A piece of prose, poetry, and prose poetry; about identity, plurality, and memories. Written by three of us& during NaNoWriMo 2018 - we pantsed it that year and ended up writing a half-fantasy half-earnest journey of selves-discovery.
Relationships: Salt Institute & The Raven King, Salt Institute & The Slither Queen, The Raven King & The Slither Queen, bee (Salt Institute) & Envy (Salt Institute) & Karkat (Salt Institute)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. journeys & paths

**Author's Note:**

> 🐝 sooo it's plural on main time! (plurality 101 available [here](https://morethanone.info) in case you don't know what that means)
> 
> we wrote this piece for NaNoWriMo 2018, back when it was just me (bee) and 🖤 Envy and 🦀 Karkat on our front roster and i was still our main fronter. a lot of things have changed since then, both internally at the Salt Institute and externally in the world; still, we think two things.  
> \- there is nowhere near enough explicitly plural content out there. this is our brick, our contribution to the edifice we want to help build.  
> \- the message we wanted to convey (to ourselves first, and to others too) writing this is as relevant as ever. be kind, y'all.
> 
> (we've only minimally edited the 2018 version before posting, mostly for privacy & grammar. it takes a few paragraphs to really start going _somewhere_ plot-wise, but that's all part of the journey, right?)

"wow that's wild", i say, opening the door. "like dude this really shouldn't be here you feel? feels unnatural, not organic, this ain't good wow!"

"Yeah, the colors are all shitty, looks like—"

"A CHILD PAINTED THIS!"

"Yeah, pretty much. For all you know, they did?"

we're still standing inside looking out of the front door. it's just... empty houses, neon green grass, electric blue sky, a few green-and-brown trees, everything feels so saturated and _empty_ and soulless and "it just really doesn't feel like a place we should go to, but maybe it leads to other cooler places? might as well see what's up you know."

&

there's probably people going their own way around us but it's not like we see them, really, they're just background decor and they're not where the real action is

where we are is an urban night and there's trees glowing blue like crystals

the light pulses slowly, a heartbeat in this city of bones (bones)

there's definitely people going their own way around us but it's not like we see them, really, they aren't us, they aren't real, they aren't like trees, glowing blue close-up trees

"So what happens if we touch one of those trees?" fae says, in faer usual sneering voice that's more light-hearted than sneer when you really hear fae

"well guess we'll just have to try and see!"

WE TOUCH THE TREE AND NOTHING HAPPENS EXCEPT MAYBE THAT IT MAKES THE LIGHT PULSE FASTER. IT'S LIKE IT'S REACTING TO OUR TOUCH SOMEHOW. I HAVEN'T SEEN STUFF THAT WEIRD IN A LONG, LONG WHILE...

&

we're lying down in the sand and the sun shines, shines, beats, down

wings unfold carry us upwards

Up, up, up, and when it feels like they're never stopping we're back to square one (down)

&

and again to the city of bones with its glowing blue trees and static people (As in people made of static, looking like static through our eyes, they move and move and go their own way and keep going, but we won't see them because they aren't real)

we clip through one another exist separately yet all in one

the tree stands, a solid shape.

&

blue, blue, pulse, blue, pulse, the tree fizzes out AND ALL WE TOUCH IS EMPTY AIR (It can't be empty if there's breathable molecules)

the skyline calls to us distant yet we perceive it, better than all the people going their own way they ignore the skyline as it calls to us

&

We leave the tree and go to the end of the horizon

it's plummeting down from there we see stars dotting a vast expanse of endless blackness and iridescent shimmers

jumping in

&

the lights flash by as we fall towards the stars

black shapes around us don't see us maybe we're not real to them

one of them extends an arm and gathers us to itself we keep falling

&  
X

there's a story and WE CAN LOOK BEYOND IT AND SEE THE THREADS THAT HOLD IT UP WHERE THE WRITER HAD TO DO SOME PATCHING, it's easy to see where he couldn't possibly have known what the fuck was _up_ but he still tried, messed up at times

the whole is still good.

that writer is not part of us and we move on keep his story to heart

moving forward

X  
&

we've stopped falling, reached a planet with soil like glass and sky like violet gauze. The shimmering lights are still visible.

standing there it's up to us to decide what to do next

the shape looms forgetting us

we step forward.

&

a path traced on the glass, deep regular gouges and we're walking between them sometimes we stop and sit there. no one we meet no one and the looming shape is gone

it's time to rest. take stock of where we go next (Hopefully less wounded)

we'll go on.

&

WE WALK TO A PALACE MADE OF GLASS. THE WINDOWS REACH HIGH AND THERE'S ONLY A GAPING MOUTH WHERE THE ENTRANCE SHOULD BE. WE STEP IN, A RAVEN FLIES OUT.

~~caw caw, motherfuckers.~~

we step into the palace and it's just one room made of glass and stairs, we see the stars and shimmering lights through it barely muted tinted purple and green

two flocks' worth of ravens fly in

THEY ASSEMBLE INTO THE SHAPE OF A PERSON. be-caped long wild hair and piercing black eyes, "fuck that's the Raven King", we realise.

he speaks and his eyes bore through us. finally someone's noticed that we're a we.

&

He speaks and it sounds like falling feathers. we pick one up and hear a fluttering noise – we forgot to listen. we listen closer

he says welcome, he says we're home, we're guests, it's not much just empty space but we can fill it all up he says

we sit down on the floor and listen to the falling feathers.

&

once there were many like him, he narrates as we hang onto every word-feather

there were many one per flock and he's all that's left of them

many yet one just like us, he says it's not time for us to meet each individual crow but it might come in the future if one of them steps up

for now he's the Raven King and that's enough. the falling feathers feel like home—feel safe

we tell him of us, the loneliness the pain the joy the fears the secrecy the few we hold dear and he listens, we don't make feathers fall but they soften our words all the same

we're there for now.

&

he says we can shape the glass however we want it won't hurt it

we make flowers clouds and bird shapes around our bed (made of feathers) the flock watches sometimes and sometimes not. it's home. we're safe

&

one day we go explore. it's all still stars and glass and purple green but now we can see the ravens in the sky, this is feather territory.

we don't find much just empty space

MASSIVE MURDERS OF CROWS DOT THE SKY AND AIM FOR HOME. WE'D HAVE THE CHOICE NOT TO, BUT WE FOLLOW.

&

We go back and find the Raven King agitated, afraid. The plague that ended his people is coming, he says, and we have to leave and hide if there's any chance of going home (we might have to make a new home) unscathed.

we say goodbye and leave.

&

there's mountains and trees (pines) and soft needle sounds soft as feathers

the Raven King seems unsure but says it's good enough

we think we might want to help him like he helped us. in hushed voices around a cold fire we ask what became of the crows

he sighs and tells us a story.

&

_Once, long ago, my people lived whole. We melded and melted and existed as many malleable, interchangeable flocks. We had whole worlds to ourselves, never ruling, never ruled, only us and those other worlds. We lived well._

_One day the plague started. Our feathers began to turn white and fell, and we died painfully in unfathomable numbers. The survivors gathered and fled, two flocks' worth of ravens, to a land made of glass where the plague would find no hold._

_I'm all that's left of us._

_Together we built a glass palace to live in, and sheltered occasional wanderers. None have ever stayed very long, or have ever understood what it meant to be both unity and several._

_Not until you showed up._

&

we ask what made him notice the sickness and dejected feathers reply, " _I found glass turning back to sand on one of the paths._ "

we ask him where and he tells. we go see for ourselves

it's all rotted crumbling away and dusty grey

we walk away and see the palace in the distance.

the stars don't shimmer in it. no purple no greens either just dusty grey

wind (had there been any) would have blown it away long before we got there.

we let go and leave for the mountains again.

&

he waited for us we find him sleeping next to the cold fire

pile of feathers black as night, except it's never night here always just purple and greens and stars

even here in the forest that isn't made of glass.

&

we keep moving and eventually we cross the mountains, reach outside the glass valley

it's still purple and greens but now there's suns in the sky too, two

one pale one black, as night again even though there is no night

he points at it and says

&

_That's where I come from. That's where every single one of my feathers first grew. We spread, and grew, and lived in many worlds, but this was my first home. There is no night here because we were the night._

&

we keep the black sun in our sight as we walk further away from the mountains and the valley made of glass

and the home we left behind.

but home is where the heart is, they say, and we carry our heart within ourselves. as long as we have one another

we can make a new home.

we glance at the Raven King. his feathers shake and we can see he feels the same.

&  
X

there's another land we can visit, far away from the Raven King and his tales (not forever)

it's old and empty and glitched out but it's there

destroyed planets for us to contemplate.

X

the planets are just one thing, though.

floating in empty black colourless space, corrupted bits of existence that no one remains to contemplate anymore.

floating in empty black colourless space, bodies remain, immune to decay or corruption, there's no other life forms to feed on them anymore.

just an offshoot of doomed empty black colourless space

doomed to be forgotten by everyone even themselves

a distant shore

no other eyes will gaze upon.

and soon,

we will move on.

X  
&

we reach a ghost city, white stone and bones (the flowers)

giant flowers and the stars between us

flowers like bones growing between the stones, pink petals tea green stems

we don't dare touch

beside the walls of the city,

waves crash and wash away the stone (over centuries), blue waterfalls in the backyard of the ghosts

the Raven King has a story.

&

_We visited this place once. Flocks of ravens covered the stones for days on end and people would talk to us. The stones were bright and uncrumbled, the city free of bone flowers. The people were happy. We learned much from them. We visited often. Some joined our flocks, others left it. Everyone was happy._

_Then the sickness took my people and spread, falling white feathers, took their people 'fore bone flowers began to emerge from the ghost stones among the dead. When we fled we flew above this empty land and did not dare touch the ground._

_We think the flowers are there to mark their graves, a tribute from the land to empty stones._

&

we make camp near the wall to keep an eye on the blue waterfalls. white birds dot the sky far above us. a single feather falls, silent prayer. it's grey.

&

we leave the city and its ghosts behind. the two suns glare and beat

the Raven King looks back once, his face creases. one lonely crow leaves the flock and perches on the rocks above the waterfalls

mourning.

&

the sky loses its purple green and tends toward blue

white clouds streaked across like so much empty space

we breathe deeply. we miss our home of purple glass with all its stars. one wing folds around us and lulls us into sleep

&

we're in the city of bones again. not the ghost city with its flowers like bones among the stones, the city of bones with its static people who aren't real.

it's still not welcoming but the presence of the Raven King dulls our awareness of all the strangeness. he lessens the static

the glowing trees are there. all pulsing ever blue

the one we touched is still missing.

&

_The trees you see are travel portals. We used to know how to make them, but the part of us that did got sick and passed away. They need to be tended to, and we do that when we can; but the static people do not know how. They can't see one another._

_The static people are not real._

&

we breathed in the tree, we tell him, when it fizzed out before we walked into the horizon and jumped down the starry waterfall.

his breath catches. he looks at us with piercing eyes, black as night, mouth open

his surface shivers, shimmers, feathers.

 _You're travellers_ , he breathes out in awe. _I thought I & was alone._

&

we're a little surprised. we don't even know what a traveller is. how can we be one?

we must look quite taken aback, it must show on our face

there's flash of pain in the King's eyes, as he sits down where the empty tree once was, looking at us among all the static people

and he begins.

&

_Travellers were common knowledge in the time when I was born._

_It was common knowledge that if you house more than one soul, you may travel further than anyone. See into worlds that would otherwise be closed off, see beyond the seams of any story. See through your own lonely existence, never alone, always travelling, more real than static people could ever hope to be. That is, if you chose to breathe one of the glowing trees._

_After the sickness spread, most worlds forgot the art of travelling. They forgot what it took and forgot what it was, no matter that we're not the only reminder. Most forgot to tend the trees._

_And instead, you know self-doubt and internal turmoil, were never told what a gift it is to be not one but several. I can't believe what it's come to. You shouldn't have to stay hidden._

_Welcome home, travellers. Welcome home._

&

we cry, tears flow

as we recall the huge castle of purple glass that felt like home more than any place we'd been before. we shake

as we recall the mountains and pile of dark feathers.

tears flow as we recall the way we thought once we were alone. the joy

of first knowing of "together"

the grief for all those who fell asleep, before that time when consciously we became we.

we cry relieved, our emotions melding all together

we are plural. all into one. and that, is a gift

the Raven King watches, for once eyes soft and faraway. he understands.

&

it was luck that brought us to the tree

luck and feeling cut from the static people. their lives don't resonate with us, they never have, because they have one life for one person. that is no way to live

we all exist we are all part

of this one thing that is our life. yes it's sharing and compromise but even separate we would stay together. we all matter all have a say

this is _our_ life and no other.

&

it's day again and as we leave static and city of bones behind

we recall the waterfalls.

the rocks breathing deep underneath. blue, blue, always deep blue

we ask the Raven King if once he went under.

&

_I never visited the depths beyond the ghost city. The rocks felt like they should be left in peace, even before the days of the bone flowers. The waterfalls froth, foam guardians._

_What water we visited is located in a lake, over a volcano. Deep in slumber, it's been slowly filled by water the purest blue. We once swam there and lay down on the shore. The rain washed us of all the blue._

_We left refreshed, we left in peace. Two of us stayed, their feathers now electric, of sickness healed. I think they're still safe there._

_We will visit, some other time._

&

we leave for the other horizon this time, the world ours.

one of us asks, "What is the Raven King even looking for? We've done nothing but walk all those days, and there doesn't seem to be an end in sight. I want to rest."

we keep looking. "i don't think we're there just yet but surely it can't be that much further?"

"LET'S ASK."

he tells of other glass, this one yellow, another valley lit in green and stars under unending night. the journey is long, he says, but if there is no safety there

we'll have to make our own.

"is it worth going?"

"IT'S WORTH A TRY"

"It's worth a try,"

correlate two voices.

&

we walk to the other horizon. it's much calmer, feels less urgent

and we have time to look at the landscape.

with calm come thoughts, some of them warm, some of them not. we're still reeling over the whole traveller thing.

there are more trees in the distance, none of them blue. the sky turns black and iridescence starts to shine

we're close to the end.

take few more steps

and fall inside.

&

there is no shape this time, only the flocks that make the Raven King

feathers beat fluttering soft

we are sheltered in time of fall.

&

we land lightly, we've stopped falling, reached a planet with soil like glass and sky like yellow gossamer. shimmering lights still visible.

standing there it's up to us to decide what to do next

the Raven King stands beside us

we step forward.

&

possibly this is just a mirror

yellow mirror to purple home

it feels different, though. yellow green and soil like glass, with paths of deep gouges showing the way.

so far we walk and no castles. like there's no home waiting for us to contemplate.

LOOKS LIKE WE'LL HAVE TO MAKE OUR OWN.

&

spires of glass reach to the sky, swirling pointed almost daunting

The Raven King leaves us to stare and flocks cover the sky. We sit among the spires and wait.

&  
X

we fall asleep and have a dream.

the same planets destroyed and glitched

red stones built out of suffering

a childhood happier than some, fucked up like most.

these are not dreams, we realise. they're memories.

X  
&

we wake up among the yellow spires. some glow red others glitch

we glimpse ravens streaking across the sky over us, spinning

feels chaotic. we step out of the spires and hit _something_ – then it's just the spire and yellow green glass and sky, and stars giving shimmering light, and flocks of raven assemble beside us.

the Raven King says this place is free of the sickness, but we cannot build our home here.

we knew that. we have more travelling to do first.

he bows to us.

&

_This is goodbye for now, my friends. You need tread paths I cannot go back to. I will wait here and build a home in time for your return._

_I wish you luck and best of paths._

_I will wait here._

&

we follow another path, gouges deep in the glass

ascend towards the sky. a set of stairs.

&  
X

this is a house, among others, it has two fields on the downstairs. it's big inside, a wooden swing before the garage door.

this was my home, and also ours but mostly mine.

things happened here i wish not to speak of.

we pass the field, behind the garage, paths of brambles bushes and grass.

i say goodbye.

X

ANOTHER PLACE, THIS ONE GLITCHY, SMELLING OF DEATH.

THINGS HAPPENED HERE I WOULD RATHER NOT THINK ABOUT.

I WON'T SAY GOODBYE. I DON'T NEED TO; I'VE MADE MY PEACE.

I HAVE A BRIGHT FUTURE TO LOOK FORWARD TO. I STEP INTO A GLITCH.

X

There's one last place; this one is fake. I don't think that anything that happened here _actually_ happened. They're still my memories, the ones that make me _me_. It's kind of stupid how our brain would get attached to those when they're not even real, right? Why'd it make me based around that? Especially considering the entire amount of shit worth regretting in all of that. Oh well ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I guess there's only so much a thirteen-year-old brain can do. And I've changed.

Don't need goodbyes when I'll carry that shit with me always.

X  
&

we're back in the city of bones, _again_. static people all around us, no Raven King to shelter us. "maybe we'll make our own feathers someday," i joke. it doesn't really lighten the mood or anything.

we make our way along the streets, with no real goal in mind

there's a mall in the distance. We might as well check it out.

&

Inside it's abandoned but not empty, the racks and shelves still full of haphazardly strewn products. A window's split, it wouldn't take much to punch it into shreds—pieces, that's the word for glass.

We walk around and don't notice much of interest. "Maybe in the back?"

"yeah why not!! it's empty anyway"

We get into the inventory space.

&  
X

There's more products; it's surprising that none have been stolen.

THE PLACE IS blissfully empty from static people, finally we can hear ourselves think.

a voice resounds ("Hey!") and we think, probably we'd get separated investigating, if we didn't share the same body. plurality, a gift again

X

I... know that voice and I kind of wish I didn't. Do I have to make apologies or what? That's awkward. Mayyyybe I should just skip that bit?

Suffice to know it's [REDACTED].

X  
&

out of the store again, slightly shaking but safe

that wasn't the kind of man who'd kill a we where not everyone was involved. apologies were made

we leave the mall behind and snake again along the empty streets (Truly empty this time, there aren't even any static people. Maybe that's just because it's night.)

&

we wonder what would happen if we touched another of the glowing trees

now that we've breathed one in.

we don't quite dare, and sit on a bench in an empty park. the closed iron gates are no obstacle to us.

we dream again.

&  
X

it's still places that haunt us, different ones

underground bricks and a feeling of helplessness

savage planet conquers a sky brimming with fears

many stacked rooms above huge concrete slab, despair and emptiness.

once again

we dream of memories.

X  
&

"are there ever going to be happy ones?"

"Yeah."

"THE ONES WE MAKE."

&

we leave the bench behind, a little sad. it's not like it was ever a _home_ , but it was a place we were together at. it's hard to leave, for that.

_You have more travelling to do, my friends. I will wait here._

comforted, we step aside.

&

this time we pass a tree and dare touch it

nothing happens. NO FIZZING, NOTHING.

"maybe it's because we already breathed one in? what do we do?"

as in response, the light pulses faster. deeper. stronger.

is that what he called _tending to the trees_?

&

it keeps on blinking steadily, even as we move away, backing up slowly. "i think we can leave it to blue in peace", is what happens.

we turn at last and reach another path, meandering away along the slowly filling streets

(it's more static people, not like we care)

we have a feeling that's not the last we see of this city of bones.

&

at last we reach the edge and blink, blinded, empty desert and sand and beating sun (there's only one)

we should probably cross it at night, THE SAFEST BET.

we shelter in the shadow of a wall and wait.

&

at last the stars begin to shine and the sand releases its heavy heat

upwards, not the direction that we follow.

walking on dunes is lots harder than it was on glass, it's slippery, we have to fight to make progress.

no deep gouges here; any we make soon disappear

sometimes even under our own feet reaching the top of yet another dune.

&

there might be life in here that we can't see, or can't pay attention to (Not that that's very different in result so much as in intent)

for now there's us. the sun begins to dawn somewhere up north

quick flash of stress. are we going to cross in time, or is this where we end?

&

we reach the edge what feels hours after the sun

dry, empty, tired, but we survived

as we reach the shadows of bleached stone ruins. No flowers here, only sparse grass, and a lizard

and now us. We rest a little while before carrying on.

&

lying beyond the desert and abandoned ruins we find a cabin made of logs. the outside feels very much like the headspace we started from but the cabin doesn't. it's probably safer in there.

we enter

and find the walls glowing a distant blue.

the rest of the cabin is empty; i think we'd sleep

if we didn't suddenly fizz out.

&

we're thrown suddenly onto a battlefield and once again we're glad it's all of us or none

avoiding swishing blades

wielded by static people who won't see us.

we couldn't bear to find oneself alone.

&

from the edges we watch try to determine why they're fighting, what they're arguing over

we can't understand it. it's just blade against blade and blood against blood

we flee.

&

there's three suns in the sky this time, all of them blue

(Not glowing tree blue, just blue)

we decide to follow the third, a little ways away from its siblings. there is no direction better than another

when you're not sure what paths you need to tread.

&

eventually we reach a gentle upwards slope

and trees leave place to pines leave place to none. feathers cover the ground

electric blue. they soften our words as we pass

most familiar tenderness.

&

we reach the top and find a lake, covered in feathers blue, although the water is much the same colour. there are trees too, weeping willows whose leaves flutter – not in the breeze – it's from the birds.

we lay a curious eye on the birds—ravens, we realise, although blue.

those were part of the Raven King.

&

we sit down near the lake and watch

being watched also.

everything – feathers, waters, the sky – is so, so blue.

&

one raven alights near us and looks at us, perplexed.

we say hi and explain we've already heard of this place

"oh", they say. "fare they well?"

they speak in old tones with words from centuries ago. yet we understand, we find, holding a feather in our hands. they say it is a gift, and of course we will treasure it

just as we held onto the words of their former selves.

&

_So long we fled (fled), so long we flew (flew), until_

_We held whole worlds inside our palms._

_Settled among the ocean blue;_

_A storm came by and sucked out all of our warmth._

_Then (then) holding on (on) was no longer enough;_

_We flew again, by storm carried_

_Volcanoes deep, against the storm._

_Since then a home is here, haven of calm for ours._

&

their voice echoes and overlaps in ways that we had not yet experienced

somehow familiar anyway. sometimes tweets sound from the branches. they're peaceful crows, these ones. _i think the raven king would be pleased to know some of his selves did find some peace_ , broadcasted agreement among ourselves.

&

we leave sooner than we expect, although we've been assured we'd be welcome as long as we'd like to stay.

"No thanks, my dude, we've got some exploring left to do!!"

they waved and gave us a whole pile of feathers. it's in our backpack, we carry it as reminders. (also to hold on cold hard nights.)

&

next we arrive to a desolated land; IT'S NOT DESERT THIS TIME, JUST MOSTLY ROCKS AND PILES OF SAND, BUT THOSE ARE NEAT, NOT AT ALL LIKE THE DUNES WE WENT THROUGH EARLIER. time blurs at the edges

we rest and eat on a rock

snakes slither by somewhere below. there's a canyon.

&

we climb down carefully, holding on tight; we don't quite dare land foot below in case all those snakes bite. one of them sees us, hisses, slithers away

maybe they just don't give a shit?

tentatively, we step down.

&

they do indeed not give a shit, just slither on between our feet. careful not to crush them, we follow where they go;

not sure if they're actually going in a specific direction or moving on aimlessly

still, maybe there's something here to see.

&

they converge towards a gaping mouth, large opening of rock at the end of the canyon

it's too dark to see inside, and stars glitter in the sky. maybe we'll wait until morning, we say yawning as we set up camp against the cliff

for the night.

&

we dream again

of snakes and stars

no memories this time.

only peace.

&

we wake up surrounded. by snakes and rock, no open sky.

it's slightly disorienting. "What the fuck," is pretty much what the feel is.

vibrations sound all through the rock.

 _Why are you here_ , it says. _What do you seek._ all very matter of fact and it doesn't really sound like questions, so we uuuh, don't answer, just sorta peer at the snakes squinting as if they could maybe answer for us.

&

time stretches on and we're pretty sure there have been nights, but we still don't know what to reply. we tried to get out once and all the snakes just slid on top of each other and interlocked and twined until there was no way for us to get through the wall they formed.

if this was any other story we'd probably just slice through the snakes with a sharp knife and fuck their shit up big time and probably give them the finger as we left, _but_ ,

this is more of a journey of selves-discovery

and we have to come up with an honest answer.

&

one day we walk up to what seems like the centre of the cavern

and whisper, as loud as we dare,

"We don't know what we're looking for."

&

the roof shatters, shards of stone giving way to shards of light.

we blink, blinded, kneeling. when we turn back

a mass of snakes—no, a person stands before us. that was the voice, we realise

_Why are you here. What do you seek._

she looks at us; we tell her our answer again, voice stronger with every word.

"We don't know what we're looking for!"

&

She sits, on a large chunk of the roof, and gestures for us to sit with her. _Honesty_ , she sighs, _it's been a while since anyone here was honest._

we ask her what she means by that; she has a story, too.

&

~

_We'd been here so long, we'd forgotten what solidarity was. It was all snake against snake, who'd get to do the most, who'd get to lead. We'd forgotten all about cooperation and working together._

_Then they came, young downy travellers. Barely eggs out of the nest, those ones. (_ She sighs fondly. _) They still showed us up well enough when they got here – barely eggs out of the nest and they saw right through us._

_They talked with us, shining honest and kind and warm, and we listened. Oh, it was quite the rodeo at first! Snakes and ravens don't really match, you see, definitely there was some fighting. But through all that, we listened. We'd forgotten what unconditional acceptance was like._

_By the time they left, we’d learned how to show ourselves the same kindness. They taught us the meaning of home._

~

we take a feather out of our bag and hand it to her, reverently. her eyes widen.

 _Well, I'll be. That's not the same color, but I'd know those feathers anywhere._ Her head swivels toward us, she looks dazed.

_How fares the Raven King?_

it's a real question this time.

~

&

we tell her of the ravens and the feathers, the words, the land of glass, the mountains the forest the black sun in the sky

the ghosts and bones

and our journey. cities deserts waters and skies, the feathers by the lake, and not knowing.

she listens, head cocked, eyes thoughtful. moisture at the sickness.

we finish, linearly, and she looks at us pensive.

&

 _I see there's work left to do,_ she says

_We'll help. Leave us to prepare in peace._

&

~

before we leave we ask her name

_You may call me the Slither Queen._

~

we leave the canyon carried by a river of snakes, the sky dark blue.

~

&

we wake at home, seeing the tail of a snake flop out of the window. we say goodbye see you again, just in case it can hear

then we sit on our bed. here feels so fake after everything we've been through, we think, there's so little holding us here, so little that understands.

we leave a blue feather on our pillow and prep to leave

&

we open the door and almost fall down, luckily we had a good grip on the wall.

it plummets down just like it did out of the city, with skies and stars

and green

and this time, white.

there's a path of transparent gauze we can follow; tentatively, we step on it.

&

0

we walk

and walk

and walk.

this feels all wrong somehow. it's not a path that's ours to tread; it's like someone else wanted us there.

we stay wary. we wish we had that knife.

0

there is shelter, along the way, soft sleep feathers with shards of rocks to protect us from outsiders.

we hide, grateful for help from King and Queen.

blinding white lights streak across the sky, screeching. we think maybe they search for us? NO CLUE, BUT THAT DOESN'T SOUND TOO GOOD.

0

we hold out, stuff our shirts with blue feathers.

there's a dome of blinding light in the distance. it hums even from here. we rip off some of our clothes and stick that in our ears. feeling the humming through our feet is nowhere near as bad as through eardrums.

0

we step into the dome and a booming voice assaults us, echoes through us

**What do you seek here in this place? I'll destroy you, meaningless worms.**

I raise an eyebrow at that (perks of villain experience, lol, that's horribly badly thought out and they're not scary at all).

we see in the corner (? since when do domes have corners) that there's a map, made of glass, and it's crumbling.

"you're the one who made everything sick," we say, outraged.

**And what about it? It's not making normal people sick, why should I care?**

0

&

we think back on the lands of glass

of home

and of understanding.

we think back on togetherness, old loneliness the pain the joy the fears the secrecy the few we hold dear,

we meet the Raven King,

held by the Slither Queen.

we never did anything but try to exist authentic as our own, truthful to who we are.

&

0

they gloat and prance around, blinding white electric shining on crumbling glass

their hand encompasses all.

they wish for us to die.

0

it tries to crush but we hold fast, feathers all around us

more than what we had, we realise. the Raven King has come to us.

we hold fast.

0

it tries to crush and we hold fast, feathers all around us

suddenly it squirms and cries. the Slither Queen has come to us.

we hold fast.

0

we slip out of the blind white electric grip

deep breaths. feathers close in around us

shelter us as the Slither Queen throws shards of rock and all pieces of crumbled glass

right at the core of that which wished for us to die.

0

&

it turns to chalk

all blinding light, deep ground hums, gone.

&

it was battle and it was fast

we dream again;

new memories, home.

&

we wake into the dome of chalk

as the wind blows it away like so much dust, like so much bone.

&

_You found the origin of the sickness, my friends. Well done._

is that what our journey was for?

_Ah, no, didn't he tell you that journeys never end? You're going to do lots and lots of things along the way, do so much, but it'll never really be done._

What will happen to the crumbled glass?

_The sickness will have stopped spreading, and for that you did well. But killing the source will not repair what has been lost. For what has been lost, we mourn._

WHAT IS THERE TO BE DONE?

_For now we work, and do better, and fix what we can with our own hands. We work together, to help the future be a little brighter. We foster understanding and acceptance._

&

Okay, we think. we can live with that. carry our memories with us within our hearts

carry our friends within our souls

and work together to make the future a little lighter. be kind.

&

X

_Forgotten glass low at the seams  
Universe blown to smithereens  
Ceaseless wonders some never seen  
It's not the end. It never is._

X


	2. epilogue

we made friends of some static people. we found out they're real, just different. some of them can be kind. some of them will listen. most of them do not wish for us to be dead.

we still visit the Raven King and hear his tales. the Slither Queen prefers to drop in on us unannounced, usually with gifts of rock.

we've made friends of several more we's.

we've lived, and learned, and loved, and felt, not all good but most growing beauty out of pain, like the bone flowers in the city of ghosts.

we rebuilt the city of ghosts around the flowers and now it's the city of stems. it hosts people again. life goes on where there was pain.

being kind, we are at peace.

being kind, we are stronger.

being kind, all together.

there may not be an end to existence

there may not be meaning in every glance

but that's all right. life is making our own meanings. relationships built on kindness and acceptance.

it's how we bring the world forwards.

and when we die,

we'll leave pieces of us behind.

it's not the end. it never is.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
